You Who Never Arrived

Thank you, to everyone who took the time to post comments today about their inspirations. Thanks to you, I came away with a new (to me) revelation: how you handle the little things, as well as the big things, (the heartache, the bum deals, the tragedies and even the mean and unkind things) those moments not only create the essense of who you are, nor do they only amass a lifetime for you, they leave a legacy of strength and grace for others. I’m going to be doing a lot of thinking about what legacy I’m leaving.

I’ll have lots of time for thinking too, because the boys and I are squeezing one last summer trip in before soccer, AWANA, one day a week school and cub scouts begins. We’ll be making the 4 (or 6 depending on the bladders and stomachs of my passengers) hour drive to the sticks, where my Granny lives.

I’m going to prepost a few little blog snippets ahead of time. If all goes as expected, they will self post on their allotted day. Bear in mind though, that I may be much slower to return your comments and visit your blogs.

So, while I’m finishing up laundry and packing tonight, I thought I’d share with you some of my photos from my most recent road trip, alongside my favorite poem.

You Who Never Arrived
by Rainer Maria Rilke

You who never arrived
in my arms,
Beloved,
Who were lost
from the start,
I don’t even know what songs
would please you.
I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment.
All the immense images in me–
the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities,

towers,

and bridges,

and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing.
An open window
in a country house–,

and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.

Streets that I chanced upon,–
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop,
the mirrors were still dizzy with your presence
and, startled, gave back my too-sudden image.
Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us

yesterday,
seperate,
in the evening…